


Colored in Pale

by HappyEight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyEight/pseuds/HappyEight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not sure you're allowed to touch him anymore but you motherfucking want to. You're so pale for the scrawny little troll that it makes your bloodpumper hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colored in Pale

Karkat wanders into the nutrition block and it looks like he ain’t ever seen a miracle any day in his motherfucking life, like the fact that he's living and breath isn't fucking miraculous enough for the whole world to run on. It makes your bloodpumper throb unpleasantly like it never once did when you were strung the mother fuck out on sopor madness. Your pale bro sits his tiny, bony ass down at the table staring down like a barkbeast kicked down and out.

You want to scoop him up, settle his scrawny troll frame in your lap and pap him til he ain’t got a mother fucking care in the world. Your fingers itch with the need to get with the mother fucking miracle making because there ain’t no decent troll that can stand the sight of their moirail looking do down and out, SO MOTHERFUCKING DESPONDENT.

The thing is, _the motherfucking thing is_ , you're not sure you actually have that right any more. You're not sure that as pale as you are--so pale you gather it's a miracle that you got any color left in you at all now that you aren't full of green haze or painting off the motherfucking dark carnivals pallet—that the brother that you are so utterly bereft of color for has any inclining of the same kinds towards your lonesome motherfucking self.

You want to say “Tell me my pale as white cloud fluff brother, what it is you got rolling around battering the inside of your think pan.” And you want to drag him into a feelings jam a perigree long and make up for what a shit fucking awful moirail you've been the past sweeps.

You don't do either of those things. The memory of the tiny trolls reaction to the last time you got all up in his space and the way he tense up like he was up and dead ready to get his fight or flight on make you dig your claws into your fist and your blood pumper clench. There's been to much of that feeling lately for your motherfucking liking but you also figure that this is the penance, GODDAMNED MIRACULOUS RETRIBUTION, for all the atrocities you've done up and committed. You can jive with that and get your mother fucking acceptance on with the shit you've gone and done . You just wish that it didn't involve one stumpy horned mutant brother getting himself all tied up in knots with no one there to get with the motherfucking unknotting magic.

Your fists prickle and you feel wetness as indigo slides out of your skin from the hard bite of your nails. Release your clenched hands and you wont be able to stop them from making motherfucking way in what ever direction they please. Most likely towards your Karbro and you just can't have that right now. It hurts, and the pain keeps you from moving and making like a mother cluckbeast.

“Gamzee!” Karkat snaps eyes wide staring at your clenched hands. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

You're dripping blood on the floor. Making a drip drop water painting with your own indigo life and Karkat gets up from the table and moves towards you. Your blood pumper beats heavy in your ears, pain and hope that you don't want to feel but you're the last to deny the existence of miracles.

He stand in front of you not moving biting his lip hard but not hard enough to draw blood, a lifetime of hiding his red blood from the whole goddamned world makes him careful and you want to make him bleed to show him that it's _motherfucking fine._ No culling squad is going to get within a fucking sweep of him and he didn't need to hide his shit anymore. Ain't a goddamned soul on this ship that cared what color he bled.

Then he reaches out to you and takes your hands and MIRACELS DO FUCKING EXIST, because he takes your _motherfucking hand_ and unclenches your fingers turning your palms over to inspect the freshly made marks.

“You're a goddamned mess,” He says low and irritated and, it breaks you, motherfucking snaps you clean in two to hear him sound like this. The world is a wrong place when he's saying his words short and all clipped like that, cutting off what he wants to say before the words can up and make themselves known to the world.

He leads you over to the sink and pulls your hand under the faucet. Diluted indigo washes down your hands and pools in the sink before washing your motherfucking royal blood down, down, and away.

There's medical supplies in one of the drawers, there's medical supplies all over the meteor like a doctorturer was the one who fucking stocked the whole joint. You're pretty sure it was a joint effort by Maryam and the Grimm blond headed girl who she's flushed cherrys for. Those two broads know how to keep things running and you can vouch from mother fucking first hand experience that Maryam is no force to fucking be trifled with.

Karkat wraps your hands with a layer of gauze and pins it in place.

“There you useless nook stain. Try not to incur anymore bodily damage to yourself or get blood all over the fucking floor. There's enough shit to deal with on this bulgemunching meteor without having to put to together a janitorial team to deal with cleaning up bloodstains.” there are those words, pretty angry motherfucking words that your palebro says when he's stopped thinking too much and just lets himself go.

“Pale for you.” The phrase slips out slicker than blood, and coating the room heavy just the same. Karkat tenses up enough that it looks like it hurts and now you can't distract yourself from the need to cuddle him up with your hands all gauzed up. You go for it. He lets you.

He's scrawny in your arms and you can feel all the little ridges and nubs on his body sharply poking against you. No ones been making sure he eats and that is something your gonna have to make sure is something that is happening. You may have been a fuck up, may still be a motherfucking fuck up, but you're going to take care of this tiny little troll who's nubby horns are digging into your jaw until your air sacs are nothing left but dust.

You put him down after a long moment when he starts to fidget instead of holdiong himself ramrod straight, and he's still tense but not so much, you can deal with that. This isn't the kind of miracle that happens all at once, you get that.

“I'm tired,” He says and he won't make eye contact with you. “I'm going back to my block.”

You goddamned hope that the next thing out of his mouth is going to be an invitation because one hug isn't even cracking the shell of moiralling that you want to get on with but you don't get to push for this. It's his rules and he gets to decide how this ship is going to sail.

“I'll...I'll talk to you tomorrow.” he says and disappears from the nutritionblock gone like a motherfucking shadow and it's not what you want but this whole night is full of miracles anyways

In your chest your bloodpumper thrums in an uncomfortable way that somehow you never want to stop. He's going to give you a chance and this time you're going to make fucking sure that you don't fuck up.

 

 

 


End file.
